Mr Kirkland's Slow Demise
by Looseefur
Summary: Mr. Kirkland is a skilled young craftsman in Victorian England, however he starts to fall ill, at first suffering mild anaemia and when it escalates he is no longer able to work, waking up to strange marks on his skin he has no idea how they link to his illness he always has one when he is sick.
1. Prelude

Mr Kirkland had just been buried, he had been slowly deteriorating for months, till he was found dead in his home by a young lady he had been courting at the time. She saw him already in the grip of rigour mortis while checking up on him one morning, he was pronounced dead when doctors had arrived that afternoon. A small amount of people had gathered at his grave, the man had no close family so most of the visitors were colleagues and a few friends. The mood was sombre and there was a light drizzle of rain to accompany the solemn atmosphere. There was a young woman, with plaited blonde hair tied by two purple ribbons, she approached the grave. She was crying, a white lace handkerchief wrapped around her index finger was used to wipe her eyes. In her other hand she held a bouquet of roses tightly in a white knuckled grip, like they were all she had of the now dead man who now lay six feet under the very soil she stood on. The breeze was gentle but it moaned as it passed through the broken, leafless trees. It reminded her of how Mr Kirkland had sounded last week when she had been caring for him, so pained and sad. If only there had been a diagnosis and a cure for his ailments.

People soon began to peel away, some because they where upset, some because the service was now over and others because they wanted to leave the blonde woman to grieve privately. Soon when she was now alone with 'him' the young woman kneels in front of the grave, placing the red and white roses into the pot in front of the gravestone before wrapping her arms around it like it were the person himself. "Arthur!" She wailed, her saddened voice melded with the sound of the wind creating an almost ghostly cry. Now she was alone, her neatly composed demeanour could be dropped. It ate away at her that she hadn't been with him when he passed. Had it been painful? Was he scared when it happened? Could she have helped him perhaps? Now though he was buried and she would have to move on, not forget but not dwell on what now could never be. She sobbed for a further ten minuets, only when she was hiccuping and her aquamarine eyes could cry no more did she release the head stone that read _"Here Lies ARTHUR KIRKLAND born 23rd April 1857 - 26th November 1880"_ The young woman grazed her fingertips over the grave marker, patting the top of it and with a "Good bye Arthur." She walked away still holding the lace handkerchief.

In the coffin under six feet of soil the man was dressed in his best suit, his cane and top hat also. He was deathly still except his eyes began to blink, it was pitch black in the casket. Arthur knew where he was, and it scared him. Mr. Kirkland had been buried alive… His arms and legs began to move as he could breathe again, he gulped in air faster and faster as he panicked he knew he had already been buried and clawed at the coffin. He had to get out. HE HAD TO GET OUT! HEHADTOGETOUT! It was useless shouting but he did it anyway, screaming "LET ME OUT! I'M ALIVE!" He left scratch marks on the pine lid as the air in his coffin started to become thick and heavy. His panic had taken full hold and he ignored the splinters sticking into his hands, Arthur could feel something wet and warm at his fingertips start to build. He gulped and he began hyperventilating, his chest expanded and collapsed at an alarming rate and his breathing was loud and panicked, he felt the oxygen in the coffin start to dwindle as his chest felt like it was about to explode from the pain and lack of breath. Only inside his casket could he hear the terrible sounds of his frantic and now rasping breath, the sounds of his nails clawing madly at the wooded lid. He couldn't see at all which only made his fear greater.

The deprivation of fresh air soon got to him though and his body started to become sluggish and Arthur began to feel tired and in so much pain, his bloodied hands dropped from the lid. He'd been clawing it so hard that he had scraped away the skin of his finger tips, that pain was nothing compared to the pain in his head and chest. He began to have a violent fit, his feet kicking out, his knees hitting the lid and his hands bashed against the wood, he just wasn't in control anymore. After the convulsion his suffering began to ebb and he entered a coma, finally lying still, but he wasn't at peace.

Then Mr. Kirkland stopped breathing…


	2. Chapter I

When was it that Arthur had started feeling sick? Four months ago, was it? The night before he woke up feeling rather tired and drained. It was a warm summer's night in July and another day at the workshop, just like any other, he had made a chest of drawers that had been ordered a few days prior, it was beautiful and well made after all he was very skilled at this craft. After he went out with some of the other blokes in the workshop, Alfred, Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio. He didn't get plastered though as he had work the next day. He knew some of the others might do, but he was more responsible. Arthur had drank enough to bring a warmth and a rosy tint to his usually pale cheeks, his step had a slight waver from the ale he'd had but he wasn't stumbling. Though he did manage to bump into a woman, it was too hazy a memory to recall her features, Arthur knew she was stunning the way the gaslight shone on her lovely long hair, he could remember stopping and apologising with an unsteady bow, asking if she was alright. He knew she hand an accent but he had forgot what sort, the woman had asked to come with him, she had told him that she was new to London and that she didn't know where her lodgings were.

If he were in a better state of mind he might have helped her find her residence, but he wasn't and just allowed her to go home with him instead. After all the streets at midnight were no place for a lady all manner of scoundrel might be lurking. Not that Arthur thought himself a knight in shining armour but usually when women were in male company it tended to discourage attackers. He'd learnt that from his father who'd been an officer in the newly created Police force. Hopefully no one would notice he was slightly inebriated or they might just take the chance, but also the woman herself might be scared if she caught on to his light sway or the faint smell of alcohol on his breath. But then the woman had asked to accompany him home, it was a strange request but Arthur didn't think about it.

She walked side of him and they both kept their hands to themselves, they had made some sort of small talk but the details had been forgotten, who she was, where she came from, what she was doing out so late, all of it was gone from his mind. Soon they arrived at Mr. Kirkland's home in Covent Garden, it was a pleasant residence and certainly conforming to the rest of London, made out of perfectly cut stone. Arthur fumbled with the door key for a bit before he managed to actually unlock the heavy oak door, he stepped aside and motioned for the woman to enter. She didn't though, it was strange but she looked at him expectantly like he'd not followed proper protocol, or perhaps she didn't know what his motions meant? "You can go inside love." He said to get across what he meant and waved his free arm again, holding the door open for her. "Thank you Mr. Kirkland" The woman smiled and stepped inside, Arthur followed and shut the door behind him. His guest seemed rather taken by the interior of his house, it was filled with all kinds of antiques, some were family heirlooms, others gifts and some he'd bought. Even then some items came from the British Empire, mainly the Eastern Empire, small trinkets or scrolls of Asian artwork. From the contents of his house the woman could see this man had a strong interest in culture. Typical Englishman really.

Arthur was tired now and wanted to sleep but he had to make sure his guest had somewhere to stay first. He led the woman upstairs to the second bedroom. "You can sleep here for the night Miss" He showed her the room and smiled. "I will probably be gone before you wake up, so thank you so much for letting me stay here" The woman walked into the room while Mr. Kirkland stood at the doorway. "Will you be able to find your way home?" He then let out a yawn but at least remembered his manners enough to cover his mouth as he did. "I'm sure I will manage, it's just everything looks the same in the dark." The woman smiled at him "You look tired Mr. Kirkland" she observed as he lent on the door frame and yawned, as a guest she couldn't tell him to go to bed. "Yes I am, I should be off to bed myself too, good night love" He left her in the room with a wave and she shut the door as he left.

Now his guest was given a temporary bed Arthur could go to his own. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then he got changed into his night clothes. Soon enough he was ready to go to bed and once he had tucked himself under the fluffy white bedsheets, the alcohol induced sleepiness had whisked him away into a deep slumber. At least he wasn't due at work until ten in the morning so he could still fit in a good night's sleep.

The woman had been watching from the guest bedroom through a crack between the door and it's frame, Mr. Kirkland didn't know he was being observed at all, but she had been watching him. She waited ten minutes before emerging from her temporary room and silently approached his bed chambers. When she opened the door it gave a soft creak, but not enough to disturb the sleeping man. Her sharp senses could hear his gentle snoring, the woman ghosted over to his bedside. Mr. Kirkland was laying on his right, a corner of his blankets bunched up him his left hand his arm around it like he was loosely cuddling a small person, while the rest of the sheets fanned out covering him from the middle of his torso and below. He looked rather angelic, surrounded by light white fabric, both of his bedding and his baggy long night shirt, his blonde hair and light unblemished skin, his face completely calm and relaxed. While his left arm coiled around his bunched up sheets his right lay outstretched his hand just hanging off the bed.

The woman could smell something coming from him, it was a sweet smell, she could smell it when he ran into her her sense of smell was just overwhelmed by the scent of an exotic delicacy. She looked at his arm, the loose cuff of his night shirt, and nibbled her lip, if she exercised some self restraint maybe she could return to sample him again. The woman didn't know if he were a light sleeper or not but she praised the ale for putting him in such a calm state, at least tonight he wouldn't wake up. She reached out a pale hand and touched it to his warm one, she could feel a steady pulse through his upturned palm, ever so slowly she traced her hands up his arm, folding back the loose and airy fabric of his night shirt. Mr. Kirkland continued to sleep peacefully, he didn't move at all which was very convenient as his sleeve was rolled up to just past his elbow, the pasty white skin was soft to touch and the woman was surprised at the firm lean muscle. When she first saw him she thought he was rather skinny but it seemed he hid a nice physique. Examining his arm she traced her cool finger tips over the slightly raised veins, his pulse felt much stronger there and she watched his face as she did this, trying to test out how responsive he was. Mr. Kirkland just continued to snore softly and didn't move at all. She wanted to make sure he wouldn't wake up and certainly not be alarmed, just like in hunting fear taints the meat as it does the blood.

The woman then parted her lips and placed them over the largest of his veins, still watching him from the corner of her eye, he didn't respond. Then she grazed her pointed teeth over it, still Mr. Kirkland didn't move. The warm vein was then pricked by a tooth a few small drops oozed out. The taste from even those small pearls of blood was divine, and the woman bit into his arm fully puncturing the pulsing vein with her upper canines and a smaller one with her lower ones. She quietly drank still careful not to wake him, but it was hard not to suck and slurp, the blood from his veins was that good, it made he wonder what would his fully oxygenated blood taste like? If just the liquid from his veins was this good then from his arteries must be heavenly. It was so sweet and intoxicating that she almost lost track of how much she had drank but soon she peeled herself away. The bite mark still wept and she held his arm to her lips once again but this time she kissed the wounds, his dark red blood painting her lips as the torn skin began to fuse together. The woman could see it start to discolour, becoming slightly blue and yellow already, it seemed he would have quite a bruise tomorrow. Small beads of red still remained on his skin and she gently sucked on them cleaning his new skin of the rich liquid, she licked her lips removing what was left on them. If all Englishmen were this delectable then she might find herself gaining weight, she wondered if it was just this man in particular or if it were his diet, perhaps all the tea and scones these people ate gave them their sweet taste. She broke herself from her musings as she looked at the man again. Mr. Kirkland still hadn't moved at all and the guest praised her luck, before beginning to roll his sleeve back down, letting the light cloth drape over his hand and wrist like it was prior to her disturbing it.

Standing up, she walked over to his bedroom window, carefully she unlatched it and pushed it open. The cool summer night's breeze wafted into the room, looking back she could see Mr. Kirkland's blonde hair and crisp nightshirt ruffle in the soft draught. The woman smiled and climbed up on to the window sill now in a crouch and her skirts bunched up, and she lept out into the night. Now in free fall she spread her arms and they became soft black leathery wings, her body shrank and her ears grew. A bat swooped over the front garden and then soared over the houses and empty market of Covent Garden, searching for her roost.


	3. Chapter II

When Arthur awoke he couldn't even bother to move, he felt so tired, yet he had slept soundly the whole night. After five minuets of motivating himself to move he glanced at the clock on his bedside table, it read six past eight. He had to get up but that required much more strength than he was capable of mustering. Turning himself onto his back was about as much as he felt able to do, staring up at the ceiling aimlessly still trying to will himself to get up. He wondered if his guest was still around, but then she did seem sure she would be gone by the time he got up. "What a blasted idiot…" you don't just allow strangers into your house and Arthur certainly realised that she could have done anything while he was asleep, though his thoughts were more in the realms of her stealing from him, after all she didn't know him so there would be no reason for her to kill him and he had no links to any kind of seedy organisation. He'd have to check his house from top to bottom to see if she had stolen anything. A faint breeze tickled at his face and neck, he looked over to his window, it was open. He couldn't recall opening it but then there was a lot about the previous night he found foggy and his tiredness just made his short term memory even worse.

He raised his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation with himself but his arm below the elbow felt a little, detached and it tingled like he had cut of the blood flow during the night. Even though he was exhausted Arthur shook out his arm trying to relieve the mild case of pins and needles in his limb. Once that was sorted he let his arm fall back down onto the bed, it still felt a little numb but at least it was recovering as he felt the blood rush around his finger tips. A yawn began to bubble in his chest, inhaling deeply he let it out hoping it would help him banish his sleepiness, instead of using his right he covered his mouth with his left instead. After he set that arm back on the bed as well, he looked back up to the white ceiling with his head resting on the soft feather pillows. Perhaps he could stay in bed for a little longer.

After a few more minuets of lazying about in bed trying to get the gumption to move he eventually sat himself up, he was hunched over for a further three more minuets. Afterwards, he dragged himself from his bed and staggered out of his room, going to his bath room he splashed some water on his face, some of the water soaking into his hair. Arthur rest his hands on the rim of the sink bowl, and arched his back seeing if that would help to wake him up, it popped and cracked, the Englishman letting out a satisfied moan, but although it limbered up his back he didn't feel any more awake than before.

Once he had splashed his face with water and stretched, Arthur looked up at his reflection for the first time that morning, and God he looked an awful sight; he had dark rings around his green eyes, and they themselves didn't look as bright as they were the previous day. His skin looked just terrible like he'd spent the past week hiding away in a dark cellar. Arthur had always been pasty white but this morning his skin looked a few shades paler than usual, perhaps the dark rings around his eyes just exaggerated the milkiness of his skin. Though he looked like Death either way.

Now he'd examined his bedraggled self in the mirror and bushed his teeth, Arthur slunk to the kitchen and pulled a leftover scone from the bread box. He split it open with a knife and spread half of it with clotted cream and the other with strawberry jam, lazily he sandwiched the two halves of the pastry together, he just looked at it for a few seconds, all of a sudden it didn't look very appetising. Strange because he rather liked scones, he didn't know anyone who didn't, but he ate it anyway, albeit rather slowly. He couldn't really taste the scone, or the cream and jam he's spread on it, at least he had eaten something for breakfast and was slowly waking up. Arthur washed the knife he'd used and trudged back upstairs to get dressed for work.

When he removed his night shirt he spotted a dark almost apple sized bruise on the inner part of his arm, it had a halo of yellow skin but the bruise itself was black, with splotches of blue and violet. He voiced aloud "How did I get that?" He gently brushes his fingers over it, the bruise was tender and he withdrew his hand from it. Arthur was surprised that he had even missed it the discoloured mark as it pulsated sending out hot needles of pain into the surrounding flesh. He tried to think if he had hurt himself but the bruise was so perfectly shaped, he really didn't know what had caused it, and on the inside of his arm too. If it were his hand he might have thought he'd accidentally struck his hand with a mallet, but he couldn't remember how he'd hurt himself, after all he had difficulty remembering last night but he was sure he hadn't hurt himself at work. Perhaps he had knocked himself in his sleep? Really he was trying to rationalise how he had acquired such a mark, but he decided not to worry about it and slipped on a long shirt, he'd forget it easier if he couldn't see it.

Once dressed he checked the guest bedroom, he hadn't seen the woman at all this morning he wanted to be sure if she was here or not. He knocked on the door and waited a few moments for a reply, when none came he slowly opened the door and poked his head in. The room looked untouched, either his guest was that good she had put the room back in perfect order or she just hadn't used it. He looked about the other rooms in his house before he realised she was gone, part of him felt that she was just some poor woman who had gotten lost and really did need somewhere to stay, but he wasn't sure. Anyway he couldn't stop to think about her, he had to leave for work as his lie in put him a little behind. However, now he was awake he would be fine now, after all it was probably just that he'd gotten drunk that he'd had a rough morning. He'd make sure to get a good night's sleep and he left for work. Hopefully this was an isolated incident.


	4. Chapter III

Work didn't go according to plan yesterday, Arthur had to start constructing a book case but he was lethargic and so tired, that he didn't get as far with it, so he would have to finish it next week. He'd also forced himself to make sure nothing was stolen by his guest, nothing appeared to be missing which was lucky, next time he would have to be more careful about who he let into his house, he might not be so fortunate next time. He'd gone to bed soon after that to try and sleep off the last of his lethargy. At least it was the weekend now, and what was even better is that he was attending a formal ball, his only gripe about it was that the social season was coming to an end.

The next day wasn't as bad as the last but then he was still slower than usual to rise, he still spent ten minuets willing himself to get up, he used the fact that he would be seeing going to a ball as a means of motivation to slump himself upright in bed. Arthur sighed and raked a hand through his messy blonde hair, to his relief his right hand had sensation and all of it's ability to function. Before he could allow himself to be overcome by a wave of tiredness Arthur pulled himself from his bed. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of sleep, it was two o'clock in the afternoon, the ball he was attending was at eight, which Arthur was thankful for as he had no other commitments for the day.

Just like yesterday Arthur slunk off to the bath room to brush his teeth and wash his face, water was still dripping from his nose and chin, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he still had a slight sickly pallor but he looked much brighter and healthier today. Hopefully he would be forgiven for his pale appearance. He also noticed he was starting to get stubble coming through so a shave was in order, he would be damned if he looked like a tramp. He could always go to the barbers but he just didn't feel up to going when he could just do it himself at home. Arthur let out a yawn before he picked up his shaving soap, bowl and brush, at least this will wake him up, unless he wanted to nick his face while shaving. He dampened the badger brush a little as well as the soap and began swirling the brush on it to create a thick lather, once he had transferred the foam to his shaving bowl, he stretched rather languidly and began to apply the soap lather to his face with the brush. Now with what looked like a short beard of soap that extended down his neck he picked up his razor and unfolded it before he put it to his throat where the coating of foam started and with a steady pressure he tilted his chin up and dragged the blade up to his jawline stretching his neck out as he brought the blade up. Arthur continued to shave being careful when it came to his sharp facial features, not that shaving was hard it was just that he wanted to avoid cutting his face for the ball.

Once shaven the blonde washed the last few remnants of soap lather from his face, which was now smooth and clean. Arthur started to fill the bath will cold water and remove his clothes, soon after he stepped into the tin path tub. He sunk into the water it was cold and pleasantly numbing, allowing himself to relax he let the water come up higher up his face, his pointy nose and upper lip just protruding from the gently rippling surface of water, his nose like the dorsal fin of a shark. His green eyes were closed and the cooling water flowing over his eyelids. He spent ten minuets lying idle in the cold bathwater just relaxing and letting his mind drift about in his head, lazily picking through trivial thoughts. The water then rippled as Arthur sat himself up and lent back against the tin of the bath tub, and then again as he wiped the water from his eyes. As he sat in the bath the blonde remembered the dark bruise on his right arm, he lifted it his limb out of the water and examined his ivory skin; the mark had faded considerably, at least it was mainly blue and yellow instead of black. While the colour had improved it also felt better, when he touched his toughened fingertips to it there was no doubt that the bruise was still tender and sore but it no longer pulsated, that was a relief. Arthur took a soap cake from its dish and began to lather it over his skin, being a tad gentler over his bruised arm, once coated in suds he started to rinse them away. After he had bathed he stepped out of the tin tub and dried himself off, he felt much more refreshed after a cold bath and let out a rather happy sigh.

Once done in the bathroom he returned to his bed chambers, towelling his sodden hair. Arthur spared a glance to an old grandfather clock that read seven past three, he still had plenty of time before he had to leave. He sat back on his bed and continued to dry his hair, he'd already dried off his body and put on clean underwear. He looked over to his bedside cabinet where a letter lay, it's paper was heavy and cream coloured, it was the printed invitation from the lady of the Zwingli household inviting him and others of their class to attend. She had signed her name 'Lilly Zwingli', he'd never actually met Miss Zwingli but he had met her brother Vash earlier in the social season, that was probably how he had ended up being invited to their event. Arthur had kept the letter by his bedside as a nice reminder, that and it also smelt pleasant, the hostess had signed her name with scented ink, it smelt of lilies, he thought it was quite an interesting choice it was like she was singing her name with the scent she had used.

He stood up after five minuets with the towel draped over his shoulders as he collected his clothing for the evening, laying them over the polished surface of a chest of draws. Arthur picked up his scent box, it was a small mahogany box with little vines carved into it's lid, he picked up the sponge and dabbed the scented oil on his skin. After applying the oil he began to dress himself for the ball, he chose some nicely pressed smart black trousers, a white shirt, a light blue waist coat with pale gold embellishments and a white cravat. He dressed himself in front of an old full length mirror, it's silver frame was tarnished, this was one of his family heirlooms and it's age showed. Afterwards he opened a tin of beeswax and rubbed a small amount between his fingertips and roughly finger-combed it through his hair. Arthur picked up his polished black shoes and grey cloth spats, sitting himself down he slipped them on tying the laces and doing up the buttons on the spats.

He looked to his clock again and he found he still had just over three hours before he had to leave so he decided to pass time by reading one of the many books he owned. Arthur walked downstairs to the kitchen and started to brew himself a pot of tea, once that was done he placed the china tea pot on a tray, with a small jug of milk along with a tea cup and saucer. He carried it to his living room, placing it on his coffee table and browsed his collection, brushing his fingertips over the old and battered spines as well as the newer and more pristine ones. Soon he selected a fairly old book titled _'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'_ it was one he had read a long time ago as a child and he really liked the story so he kept it. He had read it countless times but it didn't bother him in the slightest. The young man sat himself in an armchair and opened the old book and began to read.

Soon it was ten past seven in the evening and Arthur had spent roughly two hours reading and drinking a few cups of tea, his hair was dry now and he closed his book after memorising the page number and placing the novel back on the bookshelf, with a glance to his pocket watch just to be sure of the time he stood up and plucked his black jacket with a smooth suede collar from the cloak stand in the hallway and donned it, making sure to tidy his cravat and smooth out any noticeable creases. After he picked up his top hat adorned with a grey ribbon and his cane that he had made himself, for a wood worker he was fairly wealthy, as a boy from a middle class family he had taken an interest in carpentry, really with his inheritance he didn't need to work but he enjoyed it.

Once he was ready making sure he had his keys and the invitation neatly folded in his pocket he stepped out of his house and locked the door. The sun was just setting and it was starting to be come a cool summer's night, the weather was mild and there was a light breeze. Arthur's happy mood gave him a lot more energy than he awoke with and hopefully he wouldn't look too pale to cause concern. Enough of that, he was looking forward to the ball, hopefully it would be an enjoyable experience.


End file.
